No Unwounded
by sick-atxxheart
Summary: In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. Just because they're on different sides of the war doesn't mean they don't have their own scars.
1. Chapter 1

**_In war, there are no unwounded soldiers._**

_-Jose Narosky_

* * *

_Harry Potter_

He knows it is his fault. All of it. Every single death, every single tear that was shed, every single family that was pulled apart... his fault, because nothing was ever enough.

Nothing, and he's just done with failure.

Oh, sure, he won. Voldemort's dead, and Harry's the one who killed him. The world is in celebration- parties, drinking, the whole deal. The world is in celebration around him- he is their bloody hero, their perfect savior. They worship him; and he hates it, and knows he doesn't deserve it. No one listens. They still come with their reporters and their high-profile pictures of whatever he happened to be doing, and he can't stand it.

And when he lies alone at night, he can feel it. The weight on his shoulders, the guilt that will never go away.

It's his fault, and he knows it.

* * *

_Hermione Granger_

She knows all about books, and cleverness, and as she buries herself in them it is easy to forget. It's easy to forget the blood that she still feels, spattered across her hands; it is easy to forget the deadness that was in Harry's eyes. It's easy to forget, and that is the escape she looks for.

It only makes it harder, though, when she comes crashing back to reality.

That's when it hurts, and that's where no one can help her. She sees Harry, crying silently in his own little corner of his own little hell; but he can't help her, no one can.

So she lives and she breathes and she escapes and she crashes- an endless cycle, a battering circle, that she can't get out of.

* * *

_Remus Lupin_

His losses are too large for him to even think about, and instead he hides. He forgets, and he ignores what is going on. He stoically ignores the fact that he is alone, that he has no one.

He buries himself in the comforting familiarity of the moonlight. Never in a million years would he have guessed that the _moon_ would be what comforted him; however, the irony of it struck him as almost right. He was the one who should have died, with them, so long ago; and now things just kept falling further and further? What does he have left?

He watches Harry with a tired and weary but caring eye. The boy suffers so much; and he sees how the war is ripping the child apart. He wishes more than anything he could do anything to stop it, to make it better... to make it go away.

But he has his own scars, and they weigh him down too much.

* * *

_Molly Weasley_

The kitchen is busy with frantic activity, and she methodically makes the meals and reprimands her children. She loves them beyond what she, or they, can understand; she would willingly give her own life if it meant their happiness and safety.

But she knows that being a mother isn't enough sometimes. Her babies are in the war; her children are threatened with death nearly daily, and she can't stand it. Many of them have told her that they are willing to give up their lives, that they are ready and strong enough- and she hadn't listened to them. Of course she hadn't.

Arthur had tried to comfort her in his own way, but she could tell he was scared too. He was terrified. Their children meant as much to him as they did to her, no matter how much of a mask he put up to hide the truth.

Molly's greatest fear was losing her children, and the burden of that fear crushed her.

* * *

_Ron Weasley_

He had never considered himself to be very strong, in any way whatsoever; Hermione was booksmart, and Harry was just... strong- but he didn't have any of that. He was just... him, and that was the entirety of his character. He didn't have anything of value, anything of purpose.

But when he saw Hermione break down; when he saw his mother's tears; when he saw the empty look in Harry's eyes... he became the strong one. He was the one who supported them, lifted them up. And they were the ones who won.

But every once in awhile, that unworthy feeling comes back. Every once in a while, he remembers the times during the war- the times when he was nothing.

* * *

**_To be continued._ **

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**_In war, there are no unwounded soldiers._**

_-Jose Narosky_

* * *

_Arthur Weasley_

He's gained wrinkles over the years, on his face and hands; ones he is surely proud of, for they mean hard work and commitment. He will never regret the many long years he worked tirelessly to support his family, those he loved. They were all worth it.

But watching those very same family members that he _so_ loved get hurt- that was what was unbearable, and beyond the wrinkles the emotional scars he had gained bore more weight. They mattered to him. His family mattered to him, and every loss and pain that they endured felt like a failure to him. He had _let_ them enter this bloody war. He had _let_ them.

And that was why he never turned down a crying face or any need of one of his children- ever. He never turned them down, and provided the best he could.

Because that feeling of failure never went away.

* * *

_Neville Longbottom_

The countless hours he had spent sitting next to his parents' bedsides had made an impact, it seemed; their own bravery in facing nothingness for the rest of their lives would have been inspiring to anyone. But to Neville, however, it was something different that mattered.

It was the way that they trusted inexplicably, that they gave themselves to anyone who would hug them or smile at them or simply be with them. They were so open, so mindless, so loving- and he hated it and wanted to be like them at the same time.

When the new war arose, he gave his all to the cause. He became what he knew he was not- he became a hero, and a leader, and a stronghold for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. _Just like his parents_.

He only wished they didn't have to be brain dead for him to realize how alike them he really was.

* * *

_Lily Evans (Potter)_

She will still smile sometimes when she remembers the way James had followed her around back in their school days, like a lost puppy begging for love. She will laugh, even, when she remembers how stuck-up she had been to deny him what he truly, truly wanted. She had never been happier ever since they got together.

He was her everything, her life and soul and smile and love; and when she heard his scream, when she heard his body hit the ground on the floor below her, her heart broke into a million tiny, miniscule little pieces.

For the last few moments of her life, she couldn't help but think that when she died, even though she was leaving her child, she would be home. She would be with him.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy_

He hasn't changed much since the war, not really. He's still the same arrogant, pompous, selfish child he was before, and he will tell anyone who will listen just that. But deep in the back of his mind, he knows he isn't exactly the same. How could he be?

For now, _now _that the war is done and all the pain is behind him, all he has left to look at is his scars. His body isn't beautifully perfect anymore- and he will never reveal that secret, to anyone. He's not the same. Endless hours of torture, whips and spells across his back; they had left their mark, and as much as he wished they would they did not disappear.

* * *

_Severus Snape_

He still remembered the day. _Mudblood_. One word that could shatter a life, shatter a friendship, shatter all promises that had been made. He still remembered- he never forgot.

It had been on that day that he had made his final decision- to become a Death Eater, to end the life he knew as simply the Slytherin with a hankering for the Dark Arts. It had been on that day that he had gone directly to Voldemort, professed his undying loyalty, and recieved the Mark that branded him for the rest of his life.

He had never stopped regretting it.

* * *

**_To be continued._ **

**Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**_In war, there are no unwounded soldiers._**

_-Jose Narosky_

* * *

_Albus Dumbledore_

He had always hated manipulation. As a child, he had fought against it tooth and nail; anything to just be able to _make his own decisions, _and _live his own life._ It had been those choices that had led to Ariana's death.

He knew he was wrong to manipulate those around him, because he had no doubt they hated it as much as he had. But he _wanted to be in control,_ and he couldn't bear to lose that feeling...

He couldn't bear to lose. After all, he had already lost Ariana, and Gellert, and... everything.

* * *

_Fenrir Greyback_

People thought him heartless, and in an instant he would agree with them. He was a werewolf; a Dark creature; a cursed man, who would never be the same. Why, after all, would he, _should he,_ have a heart?

But the loss of control was different to him. The way that his blood ran both cold and hot when the moon called to him- it both frightened and elated him, and he indulged in the feeling simply because it's all he could do. But when he began to lose his mind, even without the presence of the moon... it was then that he hated his curse.

He joined Voldemort, simply because it gave him an opportunity for all the little children he wanted. They _tasted _so good, and he loved their screams... but every once in a while he would remember what it was like to be a child, and have parents, and feel love.

Sometimes, he wished he wasn't such a monster.

* * *

_Lucius Malfoy_

He had grown up being cold, and cruel, and indifferent; and he preferred to stay that way. He turned his back on things that mattered, instead preferring to follow darkness and pain. That became all he knew.

But it hadn't taken him long to see that he was in far too deep, much further than what he could handle. He couldn't handle losing everything. He couldn't handle watching Narcissa, his _wife, _and Draco, his _son_, scream and cry from fear and pain. That had been his decision, not theirs, but they were being punished also.

When the Dark Lord was dead, Lucius couldn't help but be relieved.

* * *

_Luna Lovegood_

Her mother had always taught her that giving up hope is never an option, and she had remembered that throughout the whole war. She had never given up hope, and she had never stopped supporting Harry or fighting for the cause or being the exact same Luna she always was.

But she missed her mother, and sometimes she cried because the war had taken her away.

Sometimes the Nargles would whisper to her, and it wouldn't be the kind, happy things they normally said. Sometimes, she would be haunted... _haunted..._ and no matter how many times she smiled or how hard she tried to forget, it wouldn't go away.

* * *

_Voldemort (Tom Riddle)_

He remembered hell, and it came in all different forms. The orphanage had offered its own private tortures; Hogwarts had been his home, but it had also been his downfall; and power had left him broken. Oh yes, he remembered hell.

It was for that reason that Tom Riddle became _Voldemort, _and decided to change the world _his way. _It was for that reason that he killed, and tortured, and ruined lives faster than one could run away; all because _he remembered his own hell._ He had his own scars.

He never let anyone forget it.

* * *

**_To be continued._ **

**Please review.**


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